The Shower Bar
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Wilson goes to return Hector, he ends up telling Bonnie a story about the infarction.


"Hi."

"Is Hector... limping?"

Wilson sighed.

"A... door... got closed accidentally... on his foot." said Wilson, not actually sure what had happened, but certain he was lying when he said it was accidental.

Bonnie leaning over, reaching out to gently examine Hector's paw.

The tiny dog snapped at her, growling.

Bonnie blinked.

"I think he's just cranky because it hurts." said Wilson, kneeling down next to the dog.

Hector bared his teeth, but allowed Wilson to gently touch the paw, checking for breaks.

"I don't think it's broken. Probably just a bruise."

Bonnie sighed, reaching down to pick Hector up.

He barked and snapped at her, then limped inside the apartment himself.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"You know, he's like House in more ways than the refusal to follow rules..."

Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Did House bite at you too? I figured he was nice about it, you went over to his apartment so often."

Wilson blinked, and shook his head.

"I went over there so often because the man couldn't get to the bathroom without help. He hated that he needed that help, and wasn't afraid to take it out on me."

Bonnie blinked.

"But you always went there. You didn't even know how he'd do if you left him on his own. You never even stayed a few extra minutes before leaving if he called you."

Wilson sighed.

"I did. Once. I had to go to a week long conference, about a month after his infarction. There was no way I could do that again."

Bonnie blinked.

"You want dinner?" she asked, obviously surprised that she hadn't heard the story. Wilson had tried to explain so many times why he had to go over to his friend's place as soon as he could, but had never mentioned having seen the consequences of not going.

Wilson sighed.

"You just want to hear the story."

"I want to know why you never told me about this before."

"That's easy. Because House would have killed me if I told anyone."

"Would have?"

Wilson groaned.

"He stopped asking me if I had ever told anyone about a year ago. That doesn't mean he wouldn't still kill me if he found out I told you."

Bonnie shrugged. She really didn't like House, but if he really couldn't have got on without Wilson's help... it did change some things. Not much, but still...

Wilson sighed again, and she smiled.

About ten minutes later they were sitting at the table, microwave chicken teriyaki dinners in front of both of them, a few slices of a third by Hector's food dish.

"Well?" asked Bonnie, offering him a jug of orange juice or a carton of milk–she didn't believe in beer or anything but breakfast drinks and water.

"Orange juice. Well, like I said, I had to go to a conference, just a five day thing, it was at New York Mercy."

Bonnie nodded, pouring him a glass.

"He only called me twice the whole week, once to ask where I had put the shower bar, the other–"

"The shower bar? Why did you move that?"

Wilson sighed.

"Because he slipped a lot, forget it. The other time was to ask if I could come back early. It sucked, but I couldn't, even though I knew something had to be up for him to bring himself to ask me that."

Bonnie handed him the glass and sat down herself.

"When I got back, you probably remember, I just dumped my pack outside to let you know I was back, and drove over to his apartment. He didn't answer the door, which wasn't weird, he barely ever does that now. But I had to let myself in, and the first thing I thought when I got in there was that he had died or something, because the whole place smelled like something was rotting in it. I eventually found him in the kitchen... he wasn't moving, and there was trash and stuff all over the floor."

Wilson sighed, pushing his plate away. The memory made him want to puke to this day.

"I seriously thought he was dead, until he kind of groaned and sat up, looking at me. He said something like hi Wilson, and I remember just standing there, watching him. On the floor. Looking like he hadn't moved for the whole week. He just kept looking at me, like he was daring me to feel sorry for him. I went over, pulled him up the rest of the way to sitting, and I could tell he really hadn't gotten up for days, he couldn't move his leg at all without crying."

At that, Bonnie's fork stopped, halfway to her mouth. She had never, ever thought House had cried. She knew he had gotten drunk a lot, and she knew he had been in a lot of pain, but the thought of House, cranky, irritating, cold and detached House, crying...

Wilson nodded.

"It had to get pretty bad for that to happen. But this was almost the lowest spot he ever hit, and I don't ever want to think about the few times he went lower. Anyway, I eventually got him at least sort of standing–I don't know where his crutches had gone, but I don't think they would have helped, because he passed out as soon as he was actually upright. I mean, the guy hadn't been eating right for a month, he only weighed about one fifty, and I just carried him after that, but he was really screwed."

Bonnie nodded, weirdly fascinated by the story.

"He has this... thing. About touching. He hates it. He hates bumping into people, he hates people shaking his hand, he hates everything that has to do with touch. But there have been five times since I met him that he touched me voluntarily. The first time was the day I met him, he shook my hand. I didn't realize for a long time that there was anything unusual about that. The second and third times where when he was drunk. That day was the fourth time. The fifth time... well, I'm pretty sure he was drunk that time too. I got him onto his bed, and sat down next to him, waiting for him to wake up so I could get him to eat something and try and do something about the pain. I guess I was tired from the trip, because the next thing I knew, he was lying across my chest, crying into my shirt, holding on like I was going to disappear or something. I didn't know what to say. I kind of patted him on the back, and he turned his head away, so I couldn't see his face. He didn't back off, though. He never, ever lets someone see him needing them. Never. But he couldn't let go. He was too scared, and he couldn't let go.

Wilson stopped, as he noticed that Bonnie's face was a bit pale.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be that descriptive, but I can't get the pictures out of my head. I wish I could, but that's what made me promise that I'd always come. That's what happened when I didn't."

Bonnie nodded. She could tell Wilson had been skimping on the details, but even just what he had told her... she had yelled at House for having always needed Wilson, as though he could have done something about it. It was stupid, she was blaming him for making Wilson ignore her, when she knew he had almost never actually called, never actually asked. He would never have forced Wilson to come, simply because he would never have been able to bring himself to admit he needed his friend that badly. And, judging by the story, he had needed Wilson that badly. She had thought she was asking Wilson to stay home for five more minutes, but she realized that she had been asking Wilson to abandon his best friend. Even if five minutes wouldn't really have made a difference to House, it would have hurt Wilson to know he was abandoning his friend, even for a tiny amount of time.

She blinked, and realized Wilson was thanking her for the (uneaten)food, and putting on his coat.

She said goodbye, and he walked out the door, giving Hector a quick scratch behind the ears as he left.

Yeah, he had almost never been home. Yeah, she had felt like he had abandoned her. Yeah, he had cheated. once. But no, he hadn't been avoiding being around her by helping House. Maybe later, after House had been healthier, and she had been angry, but she couldn't blame either of them for that. House had liked having his friend around, and Wilson had wanted to get away from her constant offended glares. She had been stupid, and if she hadn't been quite so selfish and ready to blame them, it wouldn't have ended up like it had.

Wilson got into his car, sighing.

It had been a long time since he had thought about that horrible, horrible night.

He pulled away from the parking lot, glancing in the rear-view mirror to see if he could merge into traffic. He blinked. Was that House's motorcycle? It was, and it pulled up, over the sidewalk, and into the driveway behind him.

He waited until there was a double gap in traffic, then pulled out, hearing the sound of House's motorcycle behind him.

About ten minutes later, he pulled off into the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant he and House got food from most often, coming to a stop in the rightmost of three empty parking spaces. He blinked, as House pulled in right next to him, flipping the vizor on his helmet up.

Wilson rolled down the window, leaning out.

House grinned.

"What are you doing?"

"I was going to the movie store, until I passed you, and noticed you had that pinched look on your face."

"Yeah, well, visiting the ex will do that..."

"No, that's the 'I'm a lecherous idiot' look. I'm talking the 'I just thought about an unpleasant memory' look."

Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Bonnie was worried that Hector was limping... he bit her, and I said he was kinda like you. She said she thought you must have been nice, all the times I went over. We argued..." Wilson hesitated.

"And you told her the story, huh?" asked House, frowning.

"Yes." said Wilson, uncomfortably.

"I told you never to tell anyone that."

"I'm sorry..."

"Did you tell her about the touching?"

"Yes. All of them."

House raised his eyebrows.

"Even the fifth one?"

"I said you were drunk the fifth one."

"I was, that doesn't answer my question."

"I only described the first and fourth times."

House snorted.

"Typical."

Wilson sighed.

"House, I'm sorry, I know you didn't want me to–"

Wilson was cut off, by House's lips.

House felt Wilson smile beneath him.

"You know how you can make it up to me?"

Wilson blushed briefly.

House laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes. Just don't tell it again, kay?"

Wilson nodded.

House pulled back, grinning.

"You grab some food and we'll meet me at my apartment?"

Wilson grinned.

"You just want to chose the movie."

House winked, backing his motorcycle out of the space.

"Don't worry, it won't be porn. Or at least the movie won't be."

Wilson rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his friend's typical response, turned off his car, and walked into the restaurant, whistling quietly to himself. Arguments with House ended so much easier these days...


End file.
